


Anamnestic

by monanotlisa



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Backstory, Character Development, Character Study, Character of Color, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 00:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/pseuds/monanotlisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Ronon does love Atlantis: its architecture, spires and walkways and colourful polygons; its spaceships and weaponry; its - new, not old - people.</i></p><p>But then he sees yet another fresh Earther's wide-eyed look upon stepping into the gateroom. And he's reminded they haven't seen what he saw long before he came here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anamnestic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kisahawklin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/gifts).



Ronon does love Atlantis: its architecture, spires and walkways and colourful polygons; its spaceships and weaponry; its - new, not old - people.

But then he sees yet another fresh Earther's wide-eyed look upon stepping into the gateroom. And he's reminded they haven't seen what he saw long before he came here.

The Great Library of Caiaath, second-largest city of Sateda, carved into the red stone of the sky-high cliffs east of the old town, every piece of its reliefs covered in whitegold, burning the eyes of the onlooker at noon-time. The Council had not only put up warning signs in the five main languages of Sateda but also boxes with face-fitting sun shields to protect the eyes yet still feast on the beauty of the site. Because of them Ronon smiles indulgently about the sunglasses of Earth; he never wears them. (He knows without a doubt that the Great Library would have been something for Rodney to marvel at, and perhaps the only thing he would not mock.)

The Stadium at Dore with its dome - not large as much as intricate, perfectly rendered to carry the voices of the spectators during _kellrir_ races but not the roaring sound of the engines. And roaring there was. When his mother first took him along at age five, she had brought him into the viewer-box closest to the track where the soundwave architecture didn't yet work. He'd scrunched up his face and clamped his little fists over his ears. She had laughed, he remembers, and popped sound-stoppers into them with hands calloused from the machinery of the factory where she worked on week-days. (Teyla, Ronon thinks, would have loved both his mother and _kellrir_: too sensible to place bets on the races, of course, but gleeful and cheering as hard as she could.)

The Academy of Martial Arts in the city centre of the capital, not as imposing from the outside as it was from the inside. Barracks and training grounds, sure, but most vivid in his mind are the endless hallways with their polished marble floors leading from auditorium to lecture hall to study gallery. He didn't stay for very long after he was finally admitted. Studying and training for the entrance exam had taken two years; his time within the Academy was shorter than that. The rest of his training came when the Wraith did. (This is something John would be interested in: professionally, personally. But it's not an easy story for Ronon, and John is - John.)

He doesn't know when or if he can do so without remembering too much, too deep, but maybe one day he will tell his friends, his family. His team.

**Author's Note:**

> Kate (aka kisahawklin) wished for this, and it was such a perfect prompt for me: _Gen, Ronon, Satedan culture or language _


End file.
